


Almost Friends

by ForeignTongues



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bipolar Disorder, Concussions, Gen, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, caring!Gwen, caring!arthur, merlin whump, self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeignTongues/pseuds/ForeignTongues
Summary: Merlin was beyond on edge now, but scooted the chair to himself and sat. Arthur did the same and adopted a position where he was hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands folded together. He looked intently at Merlin."Who did this to you?" Arthur asked.A version of Merlin where, to cope with feelings of uselessness and emptiness, he starts self-punching. Gwen and Arthur are there to comfort him.In part inspired by the deleted scene, "Igraine's Sigil"





	Almost Friends

For Merlin, change was nerve-racking, as was stability. The possibility of growth overshadowed the plaintive comfort of remaining the same soul. 

Things were okay- great, in fact. But he found himself increasingly lonely. 

Gwen and Arthur had married, so the load of his duties lessened significantly. Peace ruled the kingdom since Morgana’s vanishing and with it came bountiful celebration. It also brought a stillness that disturbed Merlin rather than uplifted him. 

Whereas before he was chasing after dark magicians, mysterious creatures of the Old Religion, and generally saving the entirety of Camelot on a weekly basis, he was now left desolate. The company of friends felt lackluster and tiring; joining the knights for an evening in the pub was more of a chore to his energy levels than a breath of air. He barely had any time with Arthur anymore, and Gwen was a stranger to her old self in her efforts to focus solely on the people. She wouldn't take time to care for her well-being, meaning times spent together with friends were scarce. Gaius was often about town working to correct various illnesses, although he did at times bring Merlin along.

Overall, he couldn't say it was anyone’s fault but his that he was lonesome. Merlin knew he could go be assertive, make plans with friends, insert himself to a dinner-table with Arthur and Gwen some midday, or spend the late evenings by Gaius’ side near the fire instead of taking to bed early, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

And here he was on a chilled spring night, star-gazing through his simple hollowed window at his table and sketching herbs and potion mixtures for a new medicinal book Merlin hoped to bind for himself. Gaius’ original sat to his left, open to a page about hawthorn.

Merlin dipped the quill into his small ink bottle and proceeded to draw the red berries, similar to the beautiful holly of the winter. His hands trembled a bit; he’d eaten a small breakfast but neglected the other meals in favor of completing some of the book after serving Arthur and Gwen.

He reached over to collect another drop of ink and looked back to his work, only to realize he’d smudged his drawing. 

Merlin bit the inside of his lip and inhaled. It was silly to get angry and he recognized this, but he couldn’t help his fierce irritation. He took his thumb to the smear and tried to rub it out like intentional shading but found the smudge worse than before; bits of parchment balled up with the ink and thinned the spot on the paper.

He could feel his cheeks flush and his frustration fester. Before he could calm himself, tears formed in his eyes. 

Why Merlin’s emotions were so sporadic, he couldn’t place. More annoyed at the tears than anything, he blinked hard and watched them plunk gently on the parchment, now dripping the inked berries down the page a little. Oh well, the thing was ruined anyways. Merlin hated to waste paper, but perhaps he could use the opposite side for art sketches. 

Decidedly taking a break from the disastrous medicinal book, Merlin pulled open a drawer from on the side of the table to find his piece of charcoal that he used especially for personal artwork. It took him aback when he saw Igraine’s sigil sat complacently on fine and reverent cloth. Wrong drawer. 

But instead of retrieving the charcoal from the other side, Merlin swiped his blackened thumb on his trousers and delicately picked up the sigil. 

He recalled the night Arthur gifted it to him. Things looked grim during Morgana’s betrayal and siege of the castle. Alongside Morgause, the chances were slim to none. At and ungodly hour, in a corner of the caves were they’d retreated, Arthur shared his hopelessness with Merlin. 

To secure Merlin as a member of the royal household and to show his gratitude for Merlin’s friendship, Arthur gave it to him, his most prized possession and the sole thing he had left of his mother.  
Of course, they’d lived. Merlin tried his best to return it to Arthur, but the man insisted on him keeping it. 

Another round of embarrassing tears spilled out as Merlin grasped the sigil. 

Their friendship felt a distance away, overgrown with weeds and dried by a withering sun. He could speak to Arthur at any time he wished, but what difference did it make if Merlin’s existence in Arthur’s eyes was a blatant lie? 

Merlin tried his best to control it, but he was too intense, his frustration spilling over. 

“Damn it,” he whispered, struggling to reign in his misplaced rage. 

He stood abruptly and the chair toppled over. His empty fist connected with the table causing it to shake, but the ink bottle luckily did not meet the same fate as the chair. 

The magic inside of him churned, acting in tandem with his adrenaline, ready to strike as if he were in immediate danger against a foe. He clenched it like a clamp over his heart and tried to steady his breathing, wondering why in the world he was acting like this, but it wouldn’t stop. 

Without warning, his vision glittered in a flash of golden film. Merlin watched with horror as the pot atop his dresser cracked and exploded into hundreds of pieces. 

Merlin slowed time to step aside the flying shards. He barely managed to miss one that headed straight for his leg before everything flowed back into action. 

Chest heaving, Merlin stood amongst the destruction. Thank goodness that Gaius was staying the night at the house of a patient. The mess would be easy enough to clean, but he wasn’t bothered with that right now. It took a second for him to notice that the sigil had fallen out of hand and onto the floor along with the smashed pottery. 

He didn’t bother to pick it up. Instead, his fist came sharply up and connected with his own cheekbone. 

Merlin winced, eyes closed during the impact. Yet again, here was another reaction he couldn’t explain. But he didn’t want to break anything else and if it wasn’t himself, his fist would connect with an object. 

It stung slightly and the blood instantly pooled hot under his skin, but he’d pulled the punch. That angered him so he went at it again, this time much harder and without restraint. 

This punch really stung, but a part of him craved it. The pain was a distraction from his overflowing emotions and magic. 

A number of other punches flew to the cheek, the jaw, and the temple. A final throw to the side of his head made Merlin instantly exhausted, so he took to his bed and laid down. 

His face was burning and numbed to the abuse it took, but Merlin had gained control of whatever spell overcame him. He knew that it wasn’t smart to sleep after a blow to the head. Still, he didn’t have the energy to care at the moment. 

Merlin succumbed to sleep after a few minutes of staring at the sigil on his bedroom floor. 

 

 

Sunlight brushed Merlin’s bruised face and feathered through his mess of hair. The welts developed to a mottled pink and faded purple overnight as an unsightly overlay on his features. 

The sharp rays woke him. He was groggy, and it was a minute before he remembered the entropy that remained beside him. Merlin lifted his torso up from the bed and peered out the window- shit. 

It was already midday, and he was supposed to be aiding Arthur and the Knights on the training fields. 

Merlin sprang to his feet and dashed to the leather boots beside his door, cursing when minuscule shards embedded the pads of his feet despite walking between the larger pieces. 

He balanced on one foot to pick off the shards before shoving it into the boot, then repeated the same for the other. Merlin jerked open the door but made himself pause to go and place the sigil back in its respective drawer. As for the shattered pot, Merlin let a wisp of magic blow the pieces under his bed until he could properly manage them later. 

Merlin withered when he saw no Gaius in the main room although he hadn't expected him to have returned. He ran up to the dinner table and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, then bit off a large chunk while he hurried through the other door. He waited for it to click shut behind him before sprinting down the stairs and out of the castle entrance towards the training fields, waving at acquainted servants that he passed. 

 

 

When he reached the grounds, he chucked the apple core to the ground and saw Gwaine and Elyan sparring while the rest of the knights spectated their skills. Many were new recruits that Merlin had yet to speak to; the knights of the round table were steadily increasing in number. 

His eyes searched the congregated crowd and found Arthur standing amongst the newest of recruits, pointing at certain moves Gwaine and Elyan were making, explaining with excitement whenever one made a spectacular swing.

Merlin’s stomach dropped; he felt awful to let Arthur down by being late and was sure that they could’ve used help in setting up the field. He hoped Arthur wouldn’t make him act as target with the shield for punishment. The newer knights would take the king up on it even if his own friends refused. 

He jogged up behind Arthur, who turned to him when he heard panting. 

“Ah, decided to join us, did you?” Arthur scolded. He wasn’t actually angry, Merlin could tell that much. 

"Sorry, I overslept,” Merlin admitted ruefully. 

“I gathered that,” Arthur replied. 

Merlin worked to catch his breath, hearing and glancing at the clashing of the swords. Gwaine and Elyan were laughing and taunting each other with the blunted blades as if it were a real fight. 

Arthur gazed at him with intrigue. Merlin fidgeted. 

“What’s that,” Arthur questioned, staring at Merlin's face and accusing it with a pointed finger. 

“Huh?” Merlin responded dumbly before understanding- he had not even checked to see his face when in his chambers. He’d all but forgotten about the event once he discovered how late the hour was. 

"Ah, that!" Merlin smiled and let out a laugh, at a loss for an explanation. "I, um, fell!"

Arthur arched an eyebrow.

"You... fell," he echoed with a face of scrutiny. 

At this point, the knights beside Arthur had turned to look at him too. His mistake was drawing a crowd, but these young knights were gullible and appeared amused at the trials of this clumsy servant. 

Merlin felt it wrong to speak; instead, he allowed Arthur to continue with his disbelieving gaze. A rancid trickle of embarrassment and fear was spilling down his spine. He hadn't done this for attention, no. It was a spurred outburst beyond his self control.

Arthur was softer now, ignoring the snickers from the young knights beside him.

"Back to it," he commanded without acknowledging the knights, and the pair quickly sobered, then resumed watching the match.

"Come with me Merlin," Arthur almost asked this time, somewhat politely. Merlin was unsure what was about to happen, but nodded in agreement. He allowed Arthur to pass before following close behind to a colorful rest tent. 

 

Arthur parted the striped red and orange cloth, holding up the tent's edges for Merlin to pass under. 

Merlin swallowed and entered the tent; he was instantly washed over with a sauna of heat. A pitcher of water along with a number of cups sat on a table in the corner. He restrained himself from going to grab a drink. The knights would need it more than him. 

Already, a sheen of sweat formed on his brow and his lips. Merlin wiped both away with a swipe of the sleeve. 

Arthur walked to Merlin's front and retrieved a couple of chairs from the side of the tent, pulling them forward for them both. 

"Sit," he said gently.

Merlin was beyond on edge now, but scooted the chair to himself and sat. Arthur did the same and adopted a position where he was hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands folded together. He looked intently at Merlin.  
"Who did this to you?" Arthur asked. 

Merlin felt like vomiting. He was being shown such kindness and concern over something he'd done to himself. But telling Arthur the truth would garner nothing but pain for either of them. Merlin wasn't entirely convinced that he was against this form of coping; the pulsing in his cheek, the sting when he moved his lips, and the dull serenity of calm it caused his brain were all things he'd rather not let go. He was cocooned in ocean waves, so peaceful he could barely care at all. 

"No one," Merlin rushed to answer. "It was an accident. I slipped when mopping my quarters and hit my face on the table."

"Sounds painful, but inaccurate," Arthur admonished. "Those bruises are too widespread. Unless the table has different parts jutting out that all attacked you at once."

Although this situation was uncomfortable, Merlin couldn't help but relish in the caring nature and attention from Arthur. It was a rare phenomenon and something he dearly missed. 

"I'm a physician's apprentice, Arthur. I know how bruises form. I assure you that I only fell. I hit the table and then the floor, if you really care for the gruesome details."

"What I care for is the truth!" Arthur raised his voice and sat up, then reformed when he recognized how heated he was getting. "I only want to protect you. I can't if you don't tell me who did this."

Merlin struggled not to tear up. He wanted to be positive and reassuring, but all he could reply was, "You can't protect me."

Immediately seeing the frustration and fear grow in Arthur's expression, Merlin forced himself to mend it, "Because it was an accident."

Arthur sighed. "If you are sure," he said with defeat. 

Merlin clenched his jaw and breathed before replying. 

"Yes, sire."

Judging by the cheering from outside of the tent, either Gwaine or Elyan had been crowned victorious in their fight. Arthur stood and offered a hand to Merlin, who took it. They exited the tent without another word.  
That's when Merlin felt it; the nervous nausea from earlier wasn't purely nerves.

He scrambled to the side in time to miss Arthur's boots, then gave in to the heaving.

Merlin's small breakfast emptied out of his stomach. Nothing else came except bile. It was always the worst feeling and he desperately waited for the vomiting to subside. 

When it finally did, Merlin had a hand on his hunched back. He raised up and saw it was Arthur's. The man looked even wearier than Merlin, despite not being the one whose stomach just jumped the throat. 

"You should go back to your chambers, let Gaius take a look at you," Arthur said.

Merlin blinked in his dizziness. He knew exactly what was wrong and was aware that Gaius probably wouldn't return for another night, but damn did he want to sit down.

"Alright," he agreed, a little too complacent for Arthur's liking, judging by his stronger shift in worry. 

"Here, wait- Percival!" Arthur called out. Merlin was other-worldly, in a different existence. So tired.

He heard the knight came running with built footsteps crunching the grass, but Merlin didn't bother to look. 

"Would you escort Merlin back to his chambers, make sure he arrives there safely? He's fallen ill," Arthur explained. Merlin's eyes stared at the ground.

"Of course, Sire," Percival said. Merlin finally glanced at Percival and saw the same worry Arthur possessed.

"Are you ready to go?" Percival asked soothingly. Merlin nodded, regretting it when the dizziness grew stronger.

 

Merlin made it back without difficulty, though Percival watched over him every step of the way. He'd entered his chambers and slumped into his bed, not waking for a few hours. 

When he did, it was nearing supper-time. Merlin guessed that another servant was issued to serve Arthur and Gwen tonight, but a part of him did not want to sit there any longer. After sweeping the pot shards and disposing of them into a bin, Merlin went to the kitchens and informed the cooks that he would still be serving the king and queen. He was in such a rough shape that even the head cook acted kindly towards him. 

Balancing dinner plates full to the corners and a wine pitcher between his arms and amongst his fingers, Merlin made his way to the king's quarters. He realized too late that he'd forgotten to wash out his mouth; the disgusting taste of bile was strong on his tongue. Merlin decided that he'd sneak a sip of wine once in the room. 

Once he reached the doors, the guards told him that the king and queen were in a meeting still but should be returning soon. They kindly opened the doors to let him in and Merlin set the plates onto the table as they creaked the door shut. 

Merlin inexplicably felt alone again. 

He glanced around the palace room; everything was in perfect order, notably without his help. A fresh bouquet of flowers from the gardens was in a vase on the table that Merlin guessed Gwen picked earlier this morning.  
Merlin retracted a chair and sat, physically worse all of a sudden. He knew in his heart that he was needed, that he was loved, but everyone was so far away. He couldn't touch; he could barely feel. Merlin wasn't useless, but each sign pointed to the undeniable fact that he was needed-less.

The fist he made this time wasn't angry; it was made in exhausted defeat. Still, it rose to beat his face, his elbow sometimes hitting the table as he did, causing the wood to tremble. His face was quickly numb to the pain so he could hit harder and harder. Merlin wanted this side of his face to be full of contusions, to look as disgusting and battered as he felt. 

The smacks were loud and it was risky to do this with guards by the door, but Merlin couldn't stop himself. As silly as it sounded, he wanted to feel anything but the ache in his heart. 

Faster, stronger, worse. It's all he could focus on. It had become automatic.

He heard the door being opened, and then thrown open. But his fist moved of its own accord, and so what if the guards saw? Maybe Merlin would pummel his head so hard that he wouldn't wake up the next time he rested. It sounded nice in theory, but whether he wanted it or not, Merlin couldn't decide. 

A hand grabbed his offending arm, and a voice yelled at him through the fuzz enveloping his mind.

"Merlin, stop!"

Merlin knew it was Arthur now, but didn't want to end his actions. He screwed his eyes shut and drew a little golden strength from his core, which gave him enough to jerk his hand out of Arthur's grasp and throw the hardest blow thus far. He was in such pain after this that he didn't fight when Arthur took it again. Merlin looked up at him and saw utter brokenness in his wide, tearful eyes. 

That's when he also noticed Gwen, who came to the other side of the chair and held his left hand with both of her soft, small ones. Merlin couldn't bring himself to look at her as well, because he could already hear her sobbing.

Arthur seemed frozen as Merlin stared up at him, but he melted after a few seconds and knelt beside Merlin's chair. He let go of Merlin's wrist, likely seeing the weakness and passivity in his bones.  
He wrapped his arms around Merlin to the best of his ability with the obstacle and height of the chair, and Merlin let him, not minding the touch. 

"We've got you," Arthur whispered with his head leaned onto Merlin's shoulder. 

Merlin kept his sight on the palace walls which was obscured as he began to cry. He let it really empty out then, all of the pain he was feeling was coddled by the embrace of his friends.

"You're not alone," Gwen added, choking through her words. "You are loved, Merlin." 

Merlin closed his eyes and rested his head to the side, on top of Arthur's, who was dampening his shirt with silent crying. He clutched one of Gwen's hands and relinquished his fight. 

Be it for however long, he knew he was safe. He knew their words were true.

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest form of self-injury in young people is cutting, and while that is one of the main forms, the most notable type of self-injury for males is punching. That may be punching a wall [insert-other objects] and breaking a hand, or punching themselves. I have rarely seen a fic include that form of self-harm and this was to help me keep off of that very thing. I have bipolar disorder as well and that is also very under-represented or inaccurately depicted. There's nothing to romanticize about it; its very confusing for others, but it is a lot more confusion and suffering for the bearer of it. People seem to forget that and make the situation worse by acting like actions are made to hurt them; in this story, Arthur and Gwen are not dicks like that lol.
> 
> For those of you who are still keeping up with my story, the Nine Knights- I'm so sorry for the wait! I had my wedding and am moving soon so I haven't had a lot of creative motivation. This piece is mostly a coping mechanism for myself. I promise I will eventually get back to that, but it might be when I'm settled, or sooner. I'm never going to abandon it.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked this depressing thing.
> 
> Oh and let me know what you thought of this if you feel like it; I thrive off of feedback.


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